Is Redemption For Church Boards Possible?

When I work with leadership groups in congregations, I am often in awe of their individual stories. I learn about all kinds of vocation. Mothers with an artistic flair, health care workers who help cure disease and play saxophone, soldiers who give their passion and leadership in between deployments, dead-eye shot farmers, trucker theologians, ice-water veined CEOs, insightful entrepreneurs. God gives them the gifts to do these amazing things. They love God. They love their church. They do whatever they can to help the church to do good ministry.

At least 90% of them cannot state why they are serving in their particular position in church.

It's hard for me to imagine how such talented people with such a strong sense of purpose in other areas of their lives settle for such meandering when it comes to the direction of the church.

Maybe it's because making a decision cuts off other possibilities, possibilities that may hurt another human being, and that's not Christian. Maybe.

Congregations often can't decide what their board should be--a representative group or a leadership group. For the life of me, I can't figure out a good reason why a church board needs more people present (this doesn't mean I am against public meetings, only meetings where so many are required to attend). As if more people in the bureaucracy means more frequent and faithful ministry. I believe a church board is best served with five people (seven at the most), with energy directed toward being transparent about ideas and decisions, rather than creating more structure. Yet, time after time, I find boards with 13, 15, 17, 20+ people on them (probably related to a representation understanding). The meetings are frequent, long and arduous. People serve them out of a sense of duty (which is not a bad thing), but it is misplaced energy. People are busy. Regular, frequent meetings might have been a way to bring people together in the past, but that train already departed. If the goal is fellowship and contact, don't facilitate the gathering under the guise of a business meeting, go for fellowship.

I remember in my early years of ministry, there was a movement to make church boards into small spiritual communities. In some ways, that trend was like putting pearls on a pig. The idea did not address the underlying problem. The structure of the church was not serving joyful ministry. The members ended up serving the structure of the church. Joy departed. Fatigue and discouragement spread. I remember an alert about the pitfalls of building up church boards as opposed to congregational ministry and discipleship, which began my search to convert the countless hours I spent attending time wasting meetings and missing opportunities to spend evening time with my family.

Jesus once said that Sabbath was made for humankind, not the other way around (Mark 2: 23-28). Congregations place too much energy in serving their structures. Serving structures makes the congregation more susceptible to power plays. Congregations may find more joy if they find their joy in ministry as opposed to bureaucratic wrangling. Once congregations can claim where they find joy in ministry, then they can determine what kind of structure their congregation needs.

I find new light when I find a congregation with the courage to find their joy in serving God and release themselves from serving a structure. Jesus did not say that Sabbath was bad, and that is was good when it served abundant life, rather than as a weapon for the powerful. Structure for a church is not bad, but it easily become an idol, and a despised one at that.

What do you see in your congregational boards?

Still interpreting a teacher's comment--15 years later

Last month, I started podcasting my sermons (I apologize to any regular followers this week, tech difficulties prevented last Sunday's audio). This has forced me to listen to my recorded voice, which is far from a pleasant experience. Listening to my own voice bring memories from seminary to the surface.

Both of my preaching professors had distinct senses of humor, more so than my other professors. Maybe that's why they were preaching profs in the first place. It wasn't unusual for most of the burgeoning preachers to come in as a completely unformed slab of clay, waiting to be shaped. My teacher loved to offer quips about the art of shaping preachers. He used to say that the end of each academic year, he would travel to his lakeside cabin where it was completely quiet, and stand on his head for a week. He wanted all of the student sermons swimming around in his head to flow out of his brain, and out through his ears into the earth so he could come back in the fall to take in more sermons.

I couldn't ascertain whether my teacher called me Josephus because he had hope for me as a preacher, or that he was trying to make my name a little more interesting (I know the feeling). Toward the end of the term, he looked at me after one of my sermons and said to me, "Josephus, you have a voice that can weld." To this day, I'm not sure how to take that comment. Is my voice powerful? Does my voice bring metal together? Or is my sermon delivery as such that you need protective clothing and not look directly at it, lest you singe your retinas and/or flesh?

Putting sermons further out into the public sphere creates an interesting dynamic. Churches are public places; though as my teacher Pat Keifert has often said, we often treat our worship spaces like family homes rather than public places, much to our detriment. A message seems easier to control in the confines of a family home--but what of mission and the Great Commission?

Putting my sermons even more out in public still feels risky, especially when I'm trying to figure out if this welding voice of mine is a good thing or a bad thing.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Bridgeport Way SW,Lakewood,United States

Staring off into the clouds (of witnesses)

Today I've been working with theory and practice related to sociology of religion. I love this stuff. Almost can't get enough of it. Especially when something happens in the daily activity of ministry, and I visualize a constructing bridge cantilevering over the chasm between academia and ministry. Three hours of thinking, posting, praying, reading. It felt like 15 minutes. I was in a zone, in a place for me where I know the Holy Spirit resides. It doesn't get much better than that for me.

Today was also the day my oldest daughter had her first day of school. I remember watching The Cosby Show as a kid and the celebration Cliff and Claire Huxtable used to have on the first day of school. I was feeling that. I love my daughter, and I will miss her while she is at school in a matter of days. A little lost in the shuffle is my 4 year old, who doesn't start preschool until next week. She kept coming in to talk to me (as she is prone to do) while I was giddy with idea flow, and I was too dismissive of her conversation. I looked to the heavens for a little insight, and I remembered a teacher of mine who spoke to me from the cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1).

The cloud of witnesses are supposed to be the heroes of the faith. This was not my favorite teacher, one that often perturbed me. However, I remembered some wise words I received about how he was once taught that church life and pursuits always came first in ministry, and following that was the most significant regret in a life of ministry. The cloud of witnesses and the Holy Spirit directed me to get on my knees, look my daughter in the eye and say "Let's play a game. How about Candy Land?" I was moved to think about how she moved into the cloud of witnesses. That cloud allowed me to be thankful for the joy in the presence of God, joy in the flow of ideas, and joy in the simple connection of the moment. All in the midst of things that could have just as easily annoyed me. Thanks be to God.

Generosity and creativity go hand in hand

What do we think about entrepreneurs in the church?

What does it take to create a faithful and thriving Christian community?

Are "faithful" and "thriving" mutually exclusive?

As I look across the mission field in the Pacific Northwest, knowing that any stewardship campaign I've ever done (in any place in the world) has not been "enough" for anyone involved in the community, why do we continue to attempt to resource ourselves the same way (definition of insanity)? When a leader comes along with a new/unfamiliar way (rooted in a faithful way) of gathering resources, is that methodology viewed with suspicion?

My observation: implicit messages exist all over historically Mainline Protestant traditions that entrepreneurs and their ideas are not welcome. Why? Is this a good thing?

I believe that among God's people there is always the opportunity to teach and encourage generosity. Generosity will indeed inspire and resource mission in the church. However, there's more to mission than generosity. Without creativity taught and encouraged, generosity misses part of the equation. Creativity must be unleashed.

Generosity and creativity go hand in hand.

A belated, yet incarnational review of Carol Howard Merritt's "Reframing Hope"

I received a copy of Carol Howard Merritt's book, Reframing Hope, several months ago, soon after it was published. I made a promise I would review the book and share my insights on her work.

I couldn't bring myself to read it. I read the book in fits and starts, never getting beyond the first 20 pages. I like to keep my promises, so the book sat on my desk, mocking me. I met Carol at Unconference11 (#unco11) in May and talked with her a few times. She is gracious and encouraging both in social media circles and in person, and has many great things to share with the church. So I felt worse about not publicly contributing to the conversation about her book.

After a bi-coastal trip for congregational redevelopment last month and racking my brain in considering what I learned, I ripped through the book. I don't do this very often. I tend to take my time with books, pondering stories, philosophies and theologies. After hearing the stories from my colleagues about congregational decline at my training and also the stories of God at work delivering a sense of urgency in struggling communities, a title containing "hope" gained new cache in my vocation.

Why today? Why now?

For ten years until about 8 weeks ago, I served the church as an interim pastor. I brought great passion to my work, giving witness to God amid the vortex of congregational dynamics associated with a congregation in a pastoral leadership gap. I always considered myself a bearer of hope in the interim ministries I served.

What I realized as I read Reframing Hope was that there was a gap in the hope for Christian faith communities I could deliver as an interim pastor. My reasoning is that as an interim pastor, I always had an escape hatch. My time with a congregation averaged about 15 months, or at a retreat in a consultation. I was exhausted (usually in a good way) from the work, but I knew that after the limited time with the congregation, I could leave. I was the pastoral equivalent to how many grandparents function (though this is evolving). They get the grandkids for an afternoon, an overnight, or a weekend or longer, but often there is an end in sight. Grandparents have hope for their grandchildren. But I hear from many grandparents with a wry smile after a long exhale: "they go home." As an interim pastor, I always got to go home. It doesn't mean grandparents or interim pastors aren't passionate about their congregations, but the distance is different.

Now I find myself in a congregation that has significantly struggled in recent years. My wife and I bring our daughters to St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington, and ponder what God might be up to. We're looking for a home in the area. We're thinking about the schools for our daughters. Our relationships in the community take on greater weight. The stories of faith in the congregation take on a new sense of the Spirit for me. In the stories of past and current hurts of the people at St. John's, the Incarnation of God in Christ is palpable.

Reframing Hope is an incarnational book. It is about the presence of God witnessed in the life of congregations. This is not an academic exercise book. However, Reframing Hope calls on some good academic resources to give witness to the movement of God from numerous facets of congregational life as well as Howard Merritt's personal faith and ministry stories. It also gives a historical survey of the church in the American context and perspectives on emerging approaches to faith and congregational formation, from ancient practices to social media, recognizing the imperative of contributions of all God's people to sharing the grace of God in Christ with the world. Reading Reframing Hope probably wouldn't have made as much a difference to me as an interim pastor. It's a solid contribution for any ministry consideration. However, there is a fine line between personal investment and incarnational investment in ministry. I'm learning that, and Reframing Hope is a good reference point for my ongoing discernment.

I believe hope in Carol Howard Merritt's Reframing Hope is about incarnation--God's presence using the multitude of opportunities available to congregations ranging from classical liturgies to social media and beyond. I find this hopeful as I work to partner with the people of St. John's in redeveloping a community of faith. During my recent training in Newark, there were times I was downright fearful. Soon there will be a time I won't be traveling 30 minutes to get home after time at the church. Reframing Hope will continue to be a good conversation facilitator as St. John's movies into God's preferred future.

If you love a congregation (or many) and struggle to find how that congregation recognizes God at work in a changing world, I commend to you Reframing Hope to your ongoing discussion.

Baseball, Church, and Writing

Just because I haven't posted writing on the blog recently does not mean I haven't been writing. I've been writing a lot lately. An opportunity arose to audition for one of my favorite baseball blogs, thinking I could make the leap from mostly church stuff to baseball. Waiting patiently for future vocational turns is not my strong suit. The time may come to share some of my baseball writing on this blog, but I'm not sure about the direction this writing is taking. Your average pastor will never become a baseball blog, but I am curious about what I have learned in my processes in writing about baseball and church.

The writing process in baseball is surprisingly similar to writing about church--preaching, congregational development, and biblical scholarship. Over the past decade, baseball has gradually developed new methods of research to understand truths about baseball. For about 100 years, baseball used very specific methods for understanding the game that did not change much. As baseball revenues and salaries have reached new heights and computer/electronic analysis moved into the game some questioned the assumptions and validity of older methods. Those who held control over the older methods of baseball knowledge struggled and still struggle (to the point of hatred and vitriol) with the new methods.

For some, the new methods of baseball analysis come with great ease, especially those who work well with statistical analysis. Information about baseball is not dependent on newspaper beat writers with large travel budgets or national commentators, or even sports networks like ESPN. Anyone with internet access and a desire to execute extensive research can make compelling arguments about many facets of the game, and I find their arguments quite persuasive. The validity of any measurement, whether qualitative or quantitative should be a priority. Are we actually evaluating what we say we're evaluating?

Sound familiar?

The church, biblical scholarship and preaching have changed because of access to information. Some people whose livelihoods or power status were based on older knowledge methods have challenged newer methods of research and analysis. Seminaries have had to change their methods some (though not all too quickly) and ordination tracks and sacramental access has shifted (though not too quickly). The common thread in developing new hierarchies and authority matrices is that control over information is crumbling (or has crumbled). It affects both the baseball world and the world of the church. Luther and his followers, colleagues and adversaries saw it with the dawn of the printing press. The authority structures are crumbling again. Feel free to deny it, or even decry it--I'm not sure it will do you any good.

What I have learned is that for all the doctrinal purists in both baseball and the church, they are still about relationships. Though it will always help to keep certain skill sets up to date and develop new knowledge bases, the world needs people who can navigate these changing times by managing their own anxiety and stay connected to people of different viewpoints. I haven't even touched on politics--and I think this is a primary issue in the current American political climate.

The fun part for me is that the opportunity to write about these topics and stay connected with you does not flow through a publication like The Christian Century, a local or national newspaper, or even a book that I write. I can connect with you--now. I am gladdened by our shared creative energy. I think that is God at work in the Spirit.

Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose--for the church. An ode to Friday Night Lights

Do you think Friday Night Lights is a show about football? Think again. Football is part of the story, but FNL is about relationships. A creative culture makes it happen.

FNL makes its last hurrah as a current television series this Friday night. I'm not sure I've mourned the end of a series as much as this one. I admire the show for its passion and its creative process--and how a culture was created that facilitated and encouraged the creative process. This culture inspires me as a pastor. I hope that I can facilitate such a culture in the congregation and community I serve. Creation (not the "Intelligent Design" brand) is a theological foundation for me.

For a peek into the creative culture of Friday Night Lights, check out this oral history of FNL in Grantland (and if you haven't read Grantland yet, I commend it to you for writing on culture and sport that is moving far ahead of what any periodical is offering on similar topics).

Though the church has a history of inspiring creativity, the history is also long on burying creativity. Several teachers in seminary that I respect taught me an understanding of church based on replication. I took that teaching at face value for awhile. While there are some essentials in the life of the church to be replicated (and these things have been debated since Jesus arose from the dead), I believe much is up for creative interpretation. There are numerous periods in the life of the church where creativity has been squashed for a variety of reasons. This has happened and continues to occur in Mainline Protestant traditions. Even when there are wellsprings of creativity, these wellsprings are quickly institutionalized and become their own turf wars (see "contemporary" worship).

Mainline Protestant traditions were able to spread because of replication (plenty of cookie cutter church architecture out there). What else spreads because of replication? Chain restaurants. One may be able to get survival nutrition from a chain restaurant, but can people thrive? I have great hope to encourage a congregational culture where encouraging creativity is foundational to our relationship with God and one another. To me, this seems to be connected to the Great Commission: Where Jesus said, Go! Make disciples! Baptize! I am with you.

This is a creative directive from Jesus, with encouragement to go with it.

Encouraging creativity is contagious. The motto shared by Coach Taylor with his players and supporters: "Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose." Though Taylor had some "my way or the highway" methodology to coaching--he always took into account the gifts and individual situations of his players (sometimes learning the hard way), which was linked to the creative process of the series. I love thinking about this in a community of faith.

Kyle Chandler, who plays Coach Taylor on FNL, talks about how that creativity spread from the show to a basic interaction in his life:

Chandler: I was back home in Los Angeles and we wanted to put a gate up in our yard. The fella came over and said, "Mr. Chandler, how do you want me to build this?" I said, "I'm not going to tell you how to build this gate. You just look around at what's here, and you build the best gate you can. Be as creative as you want. Take your time, and just give me a good gate." That gate's probably going to stand for 400 years.

Place matters--how do your surroundings affect how you see the world?

How does where you live--culture, environment, physical surroundings and their corresponding relationships affect how you look at the world? How does it affect how you look at faith and congregational life?

My passion for these questions took a sabbatical over the past few years. After living for 20 years in the Midwest, I moved with my family to the Seattle metro, where I grew up before taking off for college and early adulthood. I am thankful for the relationships (where I met my wife), mentoring and opportunity in the Midwest (I lived and worked in rural and urban areas in KS, MN, WI, SD and IA). However, there was always some dissonance about my perceptions (particularly of faith and congregational life).

That dissonance runs both ways. I watched it last night at a grant planning meeting, where my Minnesota-native wife raised a particular point to the group. Someone responded, "is that a Midwest (church) thing?" No, Melanie responded, the congregational cultural attribute was part of her Las Vegas congregation, where she served her internship. She hears this kind of question/response loop in her work with congregations. In the particular expression of Lutheranism in the Pacific Northwest, it is common to hear about the church prowess of the Lutheran Holy Land of the Northern Great Plains (MN, ND, SD, IA), with the implication that the Pacific Northwest expression is somehow inferior. It appears from folk culture to church structure to leadership orientation.

One of my colleagues in South Dakota and I discussed this dissonance of place and perception on occasion. I had perceived that sometimes the Midwestern ethos is connected to a moral superiority. I had collected a series of op-ed pieces and letters to the editor that rejected the values of the West Coast and espoused the life in South Dakota. I was attempting to interpret what was behind that understanding. She responded that a Coastal ethos often depicts a cultural superiority. It was hard to disagree with either observation.

In congregational life the diversity of backgrounds is hard to ignore. For every perception of a degree of homogeneity, there are several divergent variables that affect perceptions and relationships. I remember seminary days with scholars and students who espoused some kind of pure faith and theology where culture didn't matter, and that somehow that pure theology could exist in a vacuum. To say there is a pure Christianity apart from culture reeks of gnosticism, where only insiders get to know and understand the "pure" theology.

Today's reflection was inspired by Kansas native Chris Suellentrop and his thoughts on the Kansas City sports landscape. Maybe you're interested in sports and place. If not, what caught my attention was one particular observation about the intersection of place and life, and one that didn't come from a Midwest outsider like me (if you don't want to read the entire article):

"Combine this romantic, backward-looking vision with the traditional Midwestern delusion that you are more American than the rest of the country, and you're left with a strikingly insular self-conception, a sense that you are in a place in righteous decline."--Chris Suellentrop, grantland.com, 7/7/11

That post re-awakened in me the importance of place as a variable to understanding our relationships with God and one another. It made me think about what it means to be a Lutheran Christian in the United States. Who once lived in the Midwest and married someone from the Midwest. Who loves everything about the geography of the Pacific Northwest (reacquainting myself with this love has distracted me from the deeper questions--they're now back). All of these things affect my relationship and vocation. The question is how? What does it mean?

Place matters. For a person of faith, place matters. The Bible features several stories and reflection about the land--think about the Promised Land. Even buildings receive special billing--the Bible features several stories about building programs. There is lament and hope intertwined with building destruction and reconstruction, and all that goes into the construction and recognition of place.

The question for me about the intersection between place and life is not that it exists, but how and why? What do you think?

Underrated in Congregational Life: Language Learning

Though I deeply appreciate the theological writings and ideas of Martin Luther, one of the things that inspires me most about a connection to the legacy of Luther is translation of the biblical witness into the language of the people. Sometimes I imagine the work of Bible translators, awestruck. I am thankful for Luther's pioneering translation work.

I love languages of all kinds. I enjoy Danish and French. I made an academic college try at Russian. I am attempting to learn Korean. I am intrigued by professional and social group lingo. I admire the dexterity in how the English language evolves. I don't like to feel foolish while I'm learning these manners of speaking, so sometimes I avoid them. It's not that I don't have the ability to learn the language, but the fear throws up road blocks. The challenge of connecting with my family and friends is stark enough; throw in the cultural differences, and I am tempted to say "why bother?" So I often give up.

Language is dynamic. We learn language often out of love for the other. Grandparents learn to use Facebook because they want to communicate with their grandchildren. An entrepreneur learns programming code because of their love for conveying a message. An adoptive parent learns Mandarin so they can know the more deeply the culture of origin of their daughter.

Here's why I think language learning is underrated in congregational life. Though we often engage in a world of dynamic language change, for some reason in congregational life, learning a new language is viewed with suspicion, or outright disdain. I think part of this is the fear and foolish factor, which I believe is modified by the deep emotional attachment to faith and congregational life. It hurts more to look foolish in matters of faith. It hurts more to look foolish in a place where we have so many and emotions and time invested in the milestones of life.

Another factor in language learning involves the theological and cultural roots of our understanding of God and change.

1. There is a very strong theological and cultural understanding that God does not change, therefore change in congregational language is considered suspect.

2. At attempt to keep language the same in congregational life may also reflect a fortress mentality. In the above link, I reference Pat Keifert, a theologian who has taught about how congregations are resistant to language change (and change in general) because the church was a "change-free zone" in the midst of a world full of change.

The variables in language learning accelerate rapidly in the Information Age, and many church leaders have rightly asked the question of stewardship of abundant information and how to prioritize usage. This burgeoning reality adds another wrinkle into how language learning choices have become more complex for congregations. Where does that conversation about language learning start? One of my favorite biblical questions from the Parable of the Good Samaritan. "Who is my neighbor?" The two things I have noticed as I drive into work: The US Military presence, and Korean language signage. I have a lot of language to learn from both communities. I cannot afford to underrate language learning anymore.

Overrated in Congregational Life: The "Summer Slump Letter"

Some people mark the changing of the seasons by holidays. Some people don't mark the changing of seasons with terms like solstice and equinox, but Memorial Day weekend, the 4th of July, Labor Day, and Easter.

Congregations can mark the changing of the seasons from the giving messages they receive via email or snail mail. You know it's autumn when you receive a letter asking for a pledge in the coming year. You know it's winter when you receive a letter to remind you of your last opportunity to make a tax-deductible donation for the fiscal/tax year. You know summer has arrived when you receive a reminder letter that congregational giving is often down during the summer months and that budget strains are acute during that time. Kennon Callahan called this the "Summer Slump Letter." Forget keeping a calendar or looking at the weather. Look at your mailbox or inbox. You'll know what season it is then. I've seen several Summer Slump letters already this summer. They're a little early this year--the economy must be bad. Slap a Bible verse or a prayer on the end of the plea, mark a season, proclaim deficit awareness, and spiritualize it. There you have the Summer Slump letter.

For many congregations, tight budgets are a way of life. Even for congregations flush with cash from a bequest or a land deal, I have yet to encounter a congregation that doesn't agonize over financial resources in some way (I see congregations flush with cash who fight more than congregations with tight budgets, but that is another story).

After seeing numerous cycles of letters and emails sent to congregational members over the years, congregational coffers should be full of donations, deeply moved and inspired by the letters they receive. These letters have probably been written for several decades. Have they made a difference (please let me know if they have)?

Why bother writing these letters?

Congregational leadership wrangles over the budget during most monthly meetings, if not all of them. Letters send a message that the leadership is not ignoring the tight budget, but doing SOMETHING. It usually makes them feel better, not to mention puffing up their own sense of accomplishment if they are giving themselves. Sometimes congregational leadership will go so far as to scold the congregational members for not giving. How well does scolding go (please let me know if you have a scolding success story)?

Callahan suggests that if there is a summer slump time in the congregation that it has to be planned for throughout the year, not addressed as a surprise occurrence each year. What might be a better approach to addressing a giving trend that is lower during the summer months?

1. Rarely will summer giving dips be adequately addressed during the actual summer months. These trends have to be addressed during the budgeting process, not when resource issues reach panic levels.

2. Some assumptions about congregational giving must be released. New members do not mean more money for a congregation, in fact, new members will probably mean resources will become even more strained. The new member + new member = more money fallacy is rooted in a notion that a congregation is the center of a given culture. With that in mind consider the next point.

3. Giving is based on a relationship. My late grandmother gave to ministries when she connected with the television preacher or Bible study leader. I didn't necessarily like how or to whom she gave, but the television ministry connected with her faithfully and regularly, more than even her own family. Even with a television, a kind of personal connection is made. How much better a connection is made when congregational leaders facilitate intentional, face to face communication with a listening posture? With a letter, nothing is learned about the recipient. A face to face meeting, though labor and time intensive, provides learning beyond measure. Face to face meetings are opportunities to learn about what God is doing through that person and how that activity can be shared with the body of Christ. Face to face communication is a high risk, high reward venture.

I invite you to share your wisdom about summer slumps or any other giving season issues you would like to discuss.

Do you know what season it is in your congregation? Check your inbox or mailbox--the overrated Summer Slump letter may be there.

Imagining small church mission

What does it mean to be part of a small church?

This week, I began service as the pastor of St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington. St. John's is a gathering of approximately 40 people in Sunday morning worship. By almost any definition, St. John's is a small church. My small church experience is a small portion of my life with congregations.

1. I served an interim ministry at New Life Lutheran Church in Sergeant Bluff, Iowa, a community at the time of about 40 people in worship.
2. I served an interim ministry at a three-point parish in Lyman County, South Dakota. One of the congregations was distinctly small in Kennebec, the congregations in Vivian and Presho could be large enough to classify differently.

From experience, observation and study, here are the small church thoughts in my mind.  I am taking an inventory of small church experiences. It should also be noted that as an interim pastor, I never lived in a small church community. There was always an understanding that I had relational access to people's lives, yet remained an outsider.

Congregational size is not the only variable of consequence. Region, denomination, judicatory, education and other variables can enter the discussion, but the focus of this reflection involves what I have gathered about small churches.

1. Often the small church is described with a sense of "plight." The small church is depicted in church circles as suffering or in disarray. Both seem to be associated with suburban migration of the mid- to late- 20th century; a migration that dwindled the size of both urban and rural congregations. The plight is that resources to fund urban or rural congregations fades as people leave, much like other urban and rural social institutions. Small churches can still thrive, I believe, but it also depends on the shared definition of what thriving means.

2. Power in small congregations must flow through the matriarchs and/or patriarchs of the congregation. Several decades ago, Arlin Rothauge published a short book on congregational size dynamics and named the 0-50 worship attendance congregation as a "family" church. Rothauge's observations have been parsed in congregations and church leadership circles for the better part of three decades. In this size of congregation, the members are often highly invested and see pastors come and go for many different reasons (see #3).

3. Pastoral leadership in small congregations often exists in a state of flux. Small congregations often cannot afford a full-time pastor, or an experienced pastor, because the salary levels cannot support clergy with a family living at home, or a pastor carrying large amounts of student loan debt. With pastors coming and going quickly, congregations develop a pattern of behavior where they can "wait out" the pastor and all of that particular pastor's ideas for ministry if they don't care for them.

4. In a small congregation, everyone knows everyone else. So the proverb goes--but I think this is a bit of a myth or euphemism for an intimacy that cannot be assumed. There may be a higher degree of familiarity among members/worshiper in small congregations than large congregations, but that does not necessarily reflect a depth of relationship.

5. What a small church needs is to replicate what is done at a large congregation. Reading a favorite blog, Church Marketing Sucks (CMS), I was reminded of how easily the replication notion is perpetuated. Large churches have the resources to share their experience, wisdom and knowledge with others. They share that information with pastors and congregations, and the small congregations often end up feeling inferior about what God is doing among them. As someone who has served both small and large congregations, this is not intentional, but it still goes on. Frustration continues to mount about good leadership resources for small congregations. The blog post from CMS reminded me about small-large congregation leadership dynamic.

In the end, what seems to matter is that people in a congregation can imagine a unique sense of mission independent of the aforementioned factors. This does not mean God's mission is lived in a vacuum. On the contrary, I think the question related to the Parable of the Good Samaritan is operative, "And who is my neighbor?" We need to know something about our neighbor in order to share good news in Christ.

Who is God? What is God doing? Who is my neighbor? I still have much to learn about small churches and the small church I am serving, but I need to remember these questions, and I look forward to addressing these questions with people in the community.

La pièce de résistance

How are we humans supposed to respond to resistance?

A. Fight through it.
B. Embrace it.
C. Avoid it.
D. Persuade it.

Does it matter who or what the resistance is? Sometimes the resistance is looking right at me in the mirror. Other times the resistance is a well-organized part of an institution. Other times the resistance is diffuse, yet omnipresent

Seth Godin invests a significant portion of his book Linchpin in the concept of "the resistance." Godin associates this concept with the portion of our brain that seeks comfort at all costs--survival mode or the status quo. In sociological terms, the resistance resembles a drive in organizations toward homeostasis--a calm center. It doesn't matter if the system is in decay, the resistance wants familiarity and peace.

In reading Linchpin, it's hard not think of Jesus' telling of The Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). Why do some of the servants/slaves take risks where one does not? What variables are present?

Explicit variables:
+Degree of fear
+Willingness to take risk
+Ability

Implicit variables:
+Knowledge of the market
+Strength of relationships

The thread linking all of these variables is the resistance. There are theological terms that serve in relationship to the resistance, some might call it sin. Lutherans might call it "old Adam (others?)."

The interesting proposition is that the Parable of the Talents, and numerous authors, preachers, journalists, columnists and psychologists place all kinds of effort into addressing the resistance. Through shame, finger pointing, fear mongering, brain analysis and story telling (remember "Who Moved My Cheese?), the resistance receives a lot of attention.

These days, I'm leaning toward embracing resistance. According to Matthew, avoidance never works in the long term, and leads to weeping and gnashing of teeth. I will invest more time in the Parable of the Talents and Linchpin in my first year at St. John's Lutheran Church because the resistance is what confounds congregations and pastors and causes them to bury their talents in a hole, much like in The Parable. It doesn't take much searching among sister congregations and colleagues to see and hear weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Location:Bridgeport Way SW,Tacoma,United States

A story from an introverted parent

Today's post is rooted in thanks to colleague and fellow Mariner and Huskies fan Adam McHugh.

I appreciate his invitation to write as guest blogger on McHugh's website, Introverted Church. If you want to explore in depth regarding introverted spirituality, I commend McHugh's book to you.

Parenting as an introvert is not any more challenging than any other parenting point of reference, but the approach and reflections are different. I will be doing less parenting at home in the coming months, and Adam provided me an opportunity to reflect on the changing seasons of parenting and vocation in my household. I am thankful for the opportunity.

Navigating debt and gratitude: a student loan milestone

June, 1988
May, 1993
May, 1998

These months and years mark the time I graduated from high school, college and seminary, respectively. None of these education milestones have caused me to look back and look ahead like the date of May 26th, 2011. That is the date that Sallie Mae congratulated me in a letter on the status of my student loans becoming "paid in full."

Debt (both financial and in general) is an odd concept. After a societal combination of love affair and ignorance of financial debt for decades, it's falling out of favor. However, debt is never an end in itself and becomes a path to some opportunities. Regardless of your perspective on debt (and there are many), as a pastor I know debt and shame are inextricably linked (I feel a strange sense of vulnerability even writing this post). I've hosted several classes at the congregations I serve where debt is a topic of learning and discussion, and the fear and shame related to debt is palpable. Though I'm not proud of the student loan debt accumulated in my late teens and through most of my twenties, there is also an curious connection to debt and gratitude. In paying off my student loans, I remember some of the people and systems that knit gratitude in my being in the midst of something sometimes shame-ridden.

It's one thing to earn a diploma and degrees through the generosity of others and personal perseverance; it's another thing to finance it. I don't have many degree holders in my family, but many of them thought it was important that I have an education and that I have many opportunities. Though my family could not pay for my entire education, they helped along the way.

My family came to visit me at the Univeristy of Kansas and Minnesota State University-Mankato, places where I wanted to go, 1800 miles away from home. They offered encouragement. Mom and Dad and Grandparents gave me hugs in person and from afar, with checks and cash in them. They scraped money together so I could learn and grow.

Friends and their families took me in. The Volansky Family in St. Louis gave me a home away from home, even after I left the University of Kansas. If I couldn't get to the Seattle Metro, if I could just get to St. Louis, I was treated like a brother or son.

When I married Melanie, I saw that she was wonderfully responsible with an amazing work ethic. Her education cost more than mine (she graduated from Augustana College in Sioux Falls, South Dakota), yet she worked her way through seminary and carried smaller amounts of debt. When we were married, my student loan debt became our student loan debt. She was gracious, loving, generous and persistent so that we would pay off that debt.

Something I learned after my education was that legislators along the line created a subsidy so that I carried only a partial burden of the interest. The plethora of perspectives about federal subsidies for student loan debt still make my head spin both in macro and micro frames of reference, but it's possible that without those subsidies, I would still be paying off the debt.

Professors and teachers often work at a substandard wage because they love to make the learning connection with their students. My respect for my teachers overflows; I am in awe of their gifts and generosity.

Every so often in my student mailbox at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, I received a blank thank you card addressed to a seminary donor. I was asked to write in that thank you card for the seminary donor. Though many pastors who served many more years than me remember a day when seminary tuition was minimal, I learned in thank you card writing how many people faithfully gave in order to finance my theological education. I spent numerous dollars. In the big picture, people who knew nothing of me but my desire to learn more about God, church and service, contributed so that I could be equipped to be a pastor.

Both my home congregation of youth, Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd in Olympia, WA, and Lutheran Campus Ministry at Minnesota State University-Mankato, pulled together resources to support my theological education. 

I probably forgot a few people and systems, but that is not intentional.

(Added 1:33pm Pacific--I did forget)
Judicatories are also working to address student loan debt. The South Dakota Synod (ELCA) set up a fund that made multiple debt payments on my student loans during my 8.5 years of service there. They recognized that many Lutheran congregations in South Dakota may not be able to pay a wage that could knock out student loan debt effectively. I hope that fund has grown and gained a wider scope. It helped me, and I am thankful.

Recently I was reminded about razor sharp edges of education, ministry, debt, shame, pain and opportunity at Unconference11, a gathering of people passionate about the life of the church. I heard several conversations and frustrations about student debt. I know the woven feelings of frustration, shame and gratitude intimately. I live(d) in the moccasins of the indebted. Without getting too happy as to depict glibness, I wanted to let my new friends and colleagues know that it was possible to be a pastor who survived student loan debt. Regardless of how education is financed, collective sacrifice is necessary. How that happens in detail, I'm not sure. I take this milestone of "paid in full" as an opportunity to live in gratitude. At least in the life of the church, we can wrangle about economic, theological and ecclesial philosophies and applications about debt and education, but gratitude is the best compass for navigation.

My Experience with the Invisible Denominational Ladder

On several occasions over the last 10 years, congregational members would look at me and my growing young family on a Sunday morning and say "When are you going to get a real church?"

On a good day, I would use that question to talk about vocation and calling with the inquirer. I was called to interim ministry for 10 years. I believe I worked faithfully and skillfully. I attended interim ministry meetings and conferences as the often the youngest person in attendance by 25-40 years. It didn't matter that I was not a part of that ministry with my generational peers (though I sometimes longed for their companionship)--that's where my gifts were. I am a strong believer in the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25: 14-30), therefore I attempt to faithfully use what I have been given. Even in the midst of questions from colleagues, peers, denominational representatives, and even members of the congregation I served.

"When are you going to get a real church?"

Several church denominational systems create an unintentional invisible ladder for the vocational development of clergy. Many seminary graduates have five-figure student loans to finance their theological education. Many congregations who take seminary graduates to serve their congregations cannot afford to pay a wage that will realistically pay off the debt so that pastors can save money for retirement or pay for the education of their own children. Therefore after a brief tenure, the pastor moves on to larger congregations and/or more specialized positions in large metro areas with thriving suburbs. The congregations in rural South Dakota even recognized this dynamic. They sometimes encouraged me to leave so that I may thrive in ministry in a "bigger and better" place. Many people lined up in my life to give thanks for the opportunity to serve together, but the same question always arose:

"When are you going to get a real church?"

After completing my most recent transitional ministry in Port Orchard, Melanie and I affirmed what we learned early on in that period of service; this 10 year season of interim ministry was over. It is too logistically challenging to be good pastors and good parents to our two daughters. Melanie and I considered many congregational opportunities, and some reflected a denominational ladder. I have experience as a lead pastor in larger congregations and supervising staff. I have experience in congregations with large budgets that give a lot of money to denominational ministry (both in Lutheran and Presbyterian congregations). Without saying so, the system's message is that I should be in a larger congregation--that's the message of the pervasive question about my status with a "real church."

After a meeting last night with a small urban/suburban congregation in significant decline, we studied our body language toward each other and wondered if God was present in this discussion. Even though it is likely I will be their called pastor, people will still ask me the question, "when are you going to get a real church?" I don't really want to address the real church question.  We recognize the Invisible Denominational Ladder together, lose any fixation with that and behave in a manner that God may be doing something with us. We don't need to articulate a bromide to assure ourselves that we are the church regardless of the congregational size. We don't need to give ourselves a pep talk. Collectively we will give thanks to God for Jesus and the blessing of being a community. We will gather and ask the question, "how can we serve our neighbor?"

The Invisible Denominational Ladder is of our own creation in what we know as "Mainline Protestantism." Some ladders look a little different in each denomination. It's not something that someone else did. It's there and part of who we are, like the wind, or atoms, or molecules. Maybe the ladder needs to be torn down, and maybe someone is called to tear it down. Calling and faithful use of gifts carries the day--which is what ignites my memory and action.

The Interpretive Challenge of Unconference11

Human life in this age places value on experience. Each experience elicits a degree of response. A television program can be watched with varied responses. The responses can be laid out on a continuum. Some responses offer a short shelf-life: "can you believe that American Idol vote last night?" Each episode will only be dissected for so long for some. For others, the episode may accumulate with others and inspire a vocal performance career.

Any experience offers an opportunity for interpretation. I have attended numerous continuing education events over the years. Each learning experience, though varied in content, offered a very similar structure. A speaker/teacher of great repute travels and meets traveling participants for a provision of information. It's like I back my empty informational truck into a dock for a load of information. Though the content may be complex, the transaction is simple. I pay money. I receive information. I receive a binder or folder full of notes and handouts I will not likely crack open again. I receive a Power Point file attached to an email that clogs a memory stick or sits on my hard drive. I may have more information, but the information nourishes my body as if I attempted nourishment by swallowing a palm full of vitamins without eating any food. The intake at a conference may hold nutritive qualities, but the information isn't sticky. The typical workshop/conference/symposium in church circles fails the stickiness test. My library is a testimony to this observation. I store many binders with hope of using the material again, yet I often don't. This failure doesn't speak to the quality of the information, but the context in which it was delivered. Every educational experience challenges the participant to interpret the information to their own context. Conference hosts over the years have recognized that more people from each context increases the stickiness of the information (Bring a group! Save money! Broaden the application!) but the methodology still lacks the stickiness necessary for integration.

Unconference11 was a powerful experience for me. Not only because it represented a spiritual milestone for me, but because there was something incarnational about it. Fleshy and sticky. There was not only information shared, but relationships were graciously hosted with God and others. Every participant was given the opportunity to contribute and be respected. This is not what usually comes out of a conference. The ethos of a typical conference resembles a rock concert. If only you can get close to the star, get a backstage pass, some of that star quality might rub off into your context.

Last night I ate dinner with good friends who, like me have attended numerous conferences and workshops. They know the routine. Talk about the greatness of the speaker, the cutting edge discovery or technique, the idea that will change our contexts. I realized last night that I couldn't explain the experience in the same way that I have explained other learning events covering about 20 years of my life.

The challenge of interpreting Unconference11 remains. What will matter in these weeks ahead? First of all, I gathered with a small group of folks passionate about subversive and new ministry developments. I hope to resource this group of people as I enter into a trajectory of ministry new to me. I am thankful for that opportunity. Most of all, the interpretive challenge of Unco11 will not be whether I can share what exactly I learned and experienced among friends. I was respected. I was valued. I was given the opportunity to contribute both truth and beauty. I was healed and loved. No "conference" I have ever attended has done that. My inclination is that though my work and life in the church looks a lot like the conferences I have attended for 20 years--a lot of vitamins, but no nourishment. The interpretive challenge is not that I can replicate Unco11 in my context, but whether in my context I can share in the work of healing, respect, love and creativity. This sounds a lot like Jesus to me.

Unconference11--a gathering of ideas and a ministry of encouragement--my story

At the opening worship for Unconference11, one of our leaders asked us what do we bring to this gathering? What do we have to offer?

This is a good question. For over a year I have planned to attend Unco11. It represents an odyssey for me, through developmental challenges for my daughter and all of the changes that represents in my family life, vocational discernment, and what it means to have friends and colleagues during this season of my life. Before my daughter's diagnosis in 2006, I was heavily involved in continuing education and colleague groups. That participation ground to a halt. My family needed more focus. The window for our daughter to thrive was one that required specific attention. So that is what Melanie and I did. It is always our life that we do this for our families, but this was particular. We are at a place where we are confident in our ability to care for our daughter. It is time to reconnect. Unco11 represents that for me.

What do I have to offer? It may sound simple--but I can offer encouragement to others. I also came to be encouraged. It is in that space of encouragement that God is present. One might think that a gathering related to the church is supposed to be encouraging. But it is rare. I have been to numerous gatherings of church folk over the years, and I may have learned things, but the Spirit to implement that learning was lost in a sea of handouts and notes. Lost in the work of control freaks and egomaniacs, of which I was sometimes (and still can be) one. Observing the folks (mostly via Twitter #unco11) and Spirit who birthed the Unconference I saw a place of encouragement and learning that didn't rely on or assume old pedagogy. Plus, the use of technology and social media are used without suspicion.

I am very pleased with my investment in this gathering. I have intentionally encouraged others, and I have been encouraged. I am thankful for the many hours of labor invested so that I may experience Christ's presence.

I am still processing the discussions, and that may come with a later post. If you are looking to find a company of encouragement centered on a discussion of what we can collectively and individually offer to the life of the church, keep your eyes open for the next gathering of Unco!

Another untimely review: Conviction

What am I willing to sacrifice in order to pursue a life passion? Does a life passion take on a different scope if that passion is a family member?

At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.

The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.

Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?

Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.

What happened to casting lots?

Many Christians of varied theological persuasions argue for a stronger relationship with the Bible. From the literalists to liberals, the Bible is seen as an important component to living a life of Christian faith. Pay attention to Jesus. Pay attention to God's commandments. Follow the household codes of Paul. The Bible argues for a communal consciousness. Christians usually take their pick about what is important to them.

What happened to casting lots?

Since Seth Godin ruminated on the coin flip in April, I've thought about the dozen or so call processes I've watched closely. How many opportunities and resources are wasted with superfluous information gathering and study all in the name of "discernment?" I'm not sure the congregation learns any more about itself, prepares itself better for mission, or puts itself in a better position to have a better ministry relationship with its next pastor through a prolonged call process lasting a year or more (there are plenty of call failures out there). At what point is the line crossed between learning and resource wasting (I wonder about that and my own formalized education)? I believe reflection and study are important--I would be in the wrong line of work if I didn't. One thing Godin does not examine is that we are probably averse to coin flips because the primitive practice somehow insults our modern level intelligence or abilities. Are our methods at reaching a decision or a call choice reliable? Are they faithful? Godin looks at what we call in the church world "discernment" as a stewardship issue. There comes a time when a coin flip is better. If we want to make it sound biblical, let's call it casting lots.

Casting lots appears 23 times in the NRSV (by my count), and this methodology is depicted as faithful, fair and reliable as any study or prayer method. Let's be faithful prayers and students. But let's be good stewards and go for casting lots. Maybe then we won't overstate our importance, and even be better stewards in meantime.

Loyalty Admired in Alberta with the Edmonton Oilers

I am an Edmonton Oilers hockey fan. I continue to learn about loyalty.

Though I don't dissect roster moves or organizational strategy with the Oilers like I do the Seattle Mariners, when the conversation turns to hockey, I have a reference point with the Oilers. I began following the Oilers when I was about 10-11 years old, watching CBUT out of Vancouver in my homes in the Puget Sound area. With Hockey Night in Canada and The National with CBC News, I became acquainted with Canadian life. My youth soccer team also participated in game exchanges between the two countries, and I traveled to Surrey and Vancouver, BC. My interest in Canada grew to where it is a hobby to follow Canadian life now in politics, culture and sport. During my early teenage years, I latched on to the rage in Canadian NHL hockey--the Edmonton Oilers, and I grew to enjoy watching Wayne Gretzky, Jari Kurri, Mark Messier, Grant Fuhr, Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish and Esa Tikkanen. They were a great team--an NHL dynasty. After Gretzky left, I continued to follow the team through thick and thin (and very thin right now).

Almost nine years ago, I checked off a line on my unofficial bucket list and made the trek to Edmonton with my wife, eight months pregnant. We flew into Calgary for my brother's wedding (I was jazzed he was marrying into a Canadian family), rented a car and fulfilled my longtime dream of attending an Edmonton Oilers home hockey game. Melanie was a good sport to attend this sporting event. Not a sports fan, she uses these opportunities to sample local cultures, exploring the arenas and stadiums to test cuisine and people watch. However, she noted it was hard to explore during the game because no one left their seats outside of intermission. About 90+ percent of the fans were wearing an Oilers sweater (jersey), or some other Oilers garb. The only other experience close to that in the 'States for professional sports was the St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Club--but Edmonton even had them beat. Melanie almost felt she couldn't leave during game play because eyes were glued to the game. The Oilers lost the game to Brett Hull and the Dallas Stars, 5-4 in OT, but if my hockey allegiance was ever in doubt, it was solidified that day.

During my recent trip to visit my brother and his family (Jimmy is working on his dissertation in Sports Management at the University of Alberta), we took in the must of every trip, an Oilers hockey game. The Oilers are a poor team this year. They are a team in transition--getting younger and faster, but also suffering a significant amount of injuries. Some nights they are barely competitive, and we saw them soundly defeated by the Los Angeles Kings, 2-0. It wasn't even that close. The Oilers have the worst record in the NHL this season, but the fans still turn out, they still watch the game. They pay high prices for tickets, beer and other concessions. Their sweaters aren't cheap, either. This game made me notice something that would surely be present in the United States with a bad team. US professional sports fans tend to vote with their feet. They tend to not show up for a bad team. The ones who do show up will boo their team. During the game we watched, the Oilers would have earned loud derision from the fan base. But not in Edmonton that night. They still lined up at the souvenir boutiques on the concourse to purchase a tactile piece of hope--new sweaters depicting the numbers of their developing heroes: Taylor Hall, Jordan Eberle, Magnus Paajarvi, to go along with their current stars, Ales Hemsky and Shawn Horcoff.

Sometimes I question blind loyalty, but I admire the loyalty on the banks of the River Saskatchewan to the Oilers. Though the team heroes are admired, it is also recognized that players come and go. The team and what it provides are the focal point for community, encouragement and camaraderie. These points are not lost on the hockey fans of Edmonton, Alberta. I wonder in the midst of such social phenomena whether there are equivalent applications for my life in the church. How much loyalty is too much? When does loyalty blind people to the opportunities of the future? How does God work in the midst of community? These were good questions for me to ponder as I admired my very small part in a community to which I admire from afar through my television, computer, and the occasional visit.